Musical Shots
by Bubblegum234
Summary: A series of oneshots based on music that keeps us going. Spectrum of ships. That didn't exactly make sense, but do take a look.
1. Chapter 1

**I know, I'm already working on a story, and have no business staring another. But this is something I've been wanting to do for a while; a series of oneshots of different pairings based on music. If you have any requests, drop a review with either the song or the pairing (anything from TMI, TID, Harry Potter, PJO HoO, Inheritance Cycle and Chronicles of Narnia will do), or both. Be sure to drop the name of the singer with the song. Active Updating of this starts from this Friday.**

 **Also, What If is nearly over so… yeah, accepting prompts for other stories.**


	2. Dramione - Highway don't care

**Hey guys! Okay, so this is not the promised Friday and I am practically a whole week late. But I have prepared nearly three chapters, so that's something. Also, before we begin, some shout outs are in need.**

 **To begin with, Gia1802: You nag you! I've lost count of the number of times I wished I could kill you, but then whatever would I do without you? That, by the way, is entirely rhetorical. Here you are, all the Dramione you could ever ask for**

 **Then, fictionsophie: I would have done this anyway, but legit permission makes it that much nicer. Thanks.**

 **HeronFrayWood: Thanks for putting up with me the way you did. It's no small task, I assure you. I owe you.**

 **This particular one shot is about Dramione, based on the song 'Highway Don't Care' by Tim McGraw featuring Taylor Swift and Keith Urban (on guitar). I would recommend hearing the song before/while reading this. Now, without further ado…**

* * *

Draco paced up and down the living room. He'd tried to call her multiple times in the past few minutes. He'd sent her innumerable texts, ranging from, "I just want you all to myself. Is that something so wrong?" to, "Mione, I want you. I need you. Come back home. Come back to me."

Work was hard and, after nearly 3 whole months, his fiancée and he had finally managed to get a free weekend together. Hermione had wanted to spend almost half of this blissful respite away from him. Well, not _away_ , but at the Burrow, and he knew that he wasn't particularly welcome at that house. Hermione and he lived together at the Malfoy Manor, but had barely seen each other these past few months. And now, of the two days they had together, she wanted to spend a large chunk without him. He knew that she hadn't met the Weasleys and Harry in a long time, but practically 12 hours of Saturday was a little too much to ask for!

He knew he had over reacted, but he could he be blamed for wanting to keep his one true love close at hand after losing nearly everything in the War? Even today, people saw Lucius Malfoy in him. No one gave him a fair chance out of a heterogeneous mixture of fear, hatred and disgust. They saw the blood, the prejudice, the arrogance, the hypocrisy related to his name, not _him_. Only Hermione had truly accepted him. In her eyes alone he had found Grace. And now, even she had left him.

Yes, he shouldn't have shouted. Yes, he had been immature about the whole thing. Yes, it was unfair of him to expect her to belong to him. Yes, she had walked out on him to go for a drive to calm herself down before. But never had she looked this broken. Never had her voice held such a steely venom. Never had she gone out to drive in the pouring rain. Never had she told him that she hated him.

Their relationship was teetering at the precipice of a freefall. And he didn't know what would happen if they let it fall. He loved her, God he loved her. But, maybe, love just wasn't enough. It was precious little to have, but it was all they had had to pull through. He didn't know if it would work this time.

With a heavy sigh, he switched the television on, flipping from one news channel to another, hoping there was nothing of a car accident where the driver was a bushy haired woman of 23. Hoping his Mione would come back to him, yet wondering if she would, if she should. Unable to take it any longer, he went over to the mini bar and poured himself a Scotch. He didn't think he'd be able to think past his cloud of self-doubt sober. For one more night, he didn't think he could tolerate the pain of loving her when he was sober. He didn't think he could lover her when he was sober.

 _You're trying to stay awake, so I bet you turned on the radio. And the song goes,_

" _I can't live without you. I can't live without you, baby."_

For the first time in ages, Draco allowed a tear to train down his cheek.

* * *

 **So that's that and no harm done. Right? Also, tell me how many puns you could find in this story. They aren't Harry Potter ones. Not the ones I incorporated knowingly anyway. Until next time!**


	3. Malec - Stitches

**Okie, here's the second one. And yes Jisha, its Malec. Thanks a billion, HeronFrayWood for the song idea; I didn't need to stitch it into the theme, it fit quite perfectly. I owe you buddy!**

 **Also, I take this opportunity to recommend Gia1802, HeronFrayWood and blue-glass-boat to my frugal audience as some pretty amazing authors. Other personal favourites of mine include Paradoxing, rippingbutterflywings, Flyinger123 (I think that's the spelling), Haybell, magicandsparklez, spikeyhairgood, TalesBeforeMales and Beach50. Be sure to give 'em a shot guys.**

 **Presenting, this fic! Malec stitched together by Shawn Mendes (pun intended)**

* * *

 _Got a feeling that I'm going under, but I know that I'll make it out alive if I quit calling you my lover and move on._

Alec stared at his phone. During the week after Magnus had broken up with him, he had spent nearly every waking moment hoping the glittery warlock would call him. He craved to hear that voice, craved it like a thirsty vagabond did water in midday in a desert. Every day, he saw Jace with Clary and Isabelle with Simon, and their happiness oozed out of them and hit the hollow in his chest like waves to the seashore. He'd called and texted Magnus for all he was worth, practically groveling at his feet, all for nothing; not once had Magnus replied, called back, or even picked the call. Not even one damn time.

With a sigh, Alec got up. Taking his phone with him, he left his room and walked to the training room. Back when Jace had thought Clary to be his sister, he listened to a certain song in repeat. Alec played it on repeat now as he walked to the centre of the room and began warming up, beginning with a few simple stretches.

 _I thought that I'd been hurt before_

 _But no one's ever left me quite this sore._

 _Your words cut deeper than a knife_

 _Now I need someone to breathe me back to life_

Alec stretched, twisting and bending his body as his need to vent needed him to, as his hollow heart needed him to. He moved in synchronization with the music in an awe-inspiring warriors' dance. He pushed his limits, the physical pain slowly, but steadily, overpowering that of havocking emotions. _This_ pain he knew, _this_ pain he could handle. _This_ pain was good pain. _This_ pain would let him get some sleep at night, instead of lying awake staring at his phone.

* * *

Magnus was just leaving the infirmary. He had come to the Institute to check on Jace's Heavenly Fire. Or that's what he wanted to believe. But, try as he might, he did want to meet a certain raven-haired, blue-eyed boy. Magnus shook his head, he couldn't think that way or he'd cave. He couldn't afford to… was that he heard from the training room? Magnus followed the sound.

 _Needle and a thread,_

 _Gotta get you out of my head._

 _Needle and a thread,_

 _Gonna wind up dead._

Magnus saw the last person he wanted to see, yet the one he yearned for the most. Alec had finished warming up and now held a sword in his hand, swiftly flowing from one posture to another. He swung his sword in an arc before quickly flicking his wrist, decapitating the dummy's arm, before kicking it and delivering the death blow. He then moved to the next dummy. All throughout his eyes remained tightly shut. Unable to help himself, the warlock let a blue spark to dance between his fingers.

* * *

When Alec finished, it was dark outside. On his way back to his room, he caught sight of blue glitter on the wall of the corridor. He couldn't believe it, but he wanted to. It was too good to be true, but God let it be true. It would break him if this turned out to be a hallucination. He reached out to touch it. For a brief moment he felt the sting of Magnus' magic underneath his fingertips, familiar from the time they had spent together. Then, all too soon, the glitter scattered like fallen leaves after a strong gust of wind, taking the words, and the last of his strength with it as Alec fell to the ground on his knees.

 _Aka cinta kamu, Alexander._

* * *

 **And that's a wrap for this chapter. There's a Wessa planned out, because I can't abstain from that ship. I'll legit go down with it. What I do need is help! What songs would be good for Jessa and Harry/Ginny?**

 **Do review, it means a lot. Even a fistful of words with your opinion will suffice.**

 **Merci beaucoup, bonne journee and Be Bubbly!**


	4. Wessa - The Way I Loved You

**And now, for the OTP! Make way for Wessa!**

 **This oneshot is based on Taylor Swift's 'The Way I loved You' (don't ya just love it?)**

 **Also, as a warning, I mean no harm whatsoever to Jessa shippers, it's just that the bug of this idea bit me and you know what it's like.**

* * *

Jem had just dropped Tessa home. It was their two month anniversary and they'd spent the whole day together at a fair and she was tired to the bone.

Jem was, in many ways, the perfect boyfriend. Scratch that; Jem was perfect, period. He was warm, caring, gentle, polite, very easy to like and extremely soft on the eyes. Tessa's overprotective aunt and even more overprotective brother loved him. He was sensible and she's never been truly careless these past two months. He remembered all important days, even her best friend Sophie's grandmother's poodle's birthday. He put her over himself. He didn't take risks and he was the sort of doting boyfriend even parents were proud of and friends wanted for themselves. He was 'safe'.

Lazily, she went through the photo gallery of her phone and looked at all the photographs the pair had taken. She saw their smiling faces staring back at her. But, even as she looked at the pictures, she realized that something was amiss. While Jem's eyes sparkled with mirth and adoration, her own were distant. She was smiling, but it didn't reach her eyes. Jem seemed to be very much in the moment, whereas she was living somewhere deep within her own head. She kept flicking through the inages, going through the stills from her life; that sleepover with Sophie, that day at the beach with Cecily, Jessamine and Sophie. That picture of her and Will simple staring at each other.

She still remembered the day it was taken. It was nearly a year old, but she remembered as though it had just happened. Gabriel, Cecily, Will and she had gone out for coffee. Will and Tessa had always been very close friends, that kind that can have entire conversations without a single words being spoken. Cecily and Gabriel were discussing a party the four had been to the previous evening and Will and Tessa were 'talking' to each other about the girls he had picked up there. Cecily had seized the moment and snapped a picture of theirs while jokingly suggesting they try dating. Six months later, they were practically living together.

Will was wild and reckless. Together, the pair had gone on more midnight excursions than she could count. She'd got drunk for the first time under William's expert guidance. He had been her first kiss, her first sin, her drug. And she had loved every moment of it.

Their first date had been on the roof of the massive Herondale mansion with Will intruding her to the world of cigarettes; his lips on her own, gently pushing the sweet poison into her mouth. He had got her her first tattoo and had been there with her when she had got her belly button pierced. She had taught him how to cook and play the guitar, buying him one on his birthday when learned the basics. They'd spent many evenings together, singing their hearts out to, and for, each other. Music and books had bound them together, and they'd even begun a blog where they reviewed books and songs, adding their own interpretations every now and then.

Looking at that photograph now, she saw what had made Cecily suggest their getting together; there was thinly veiled love and tenderness in both their eyes. They had been smitten without either of them realizing it. And, when they did realize it, they began dating immediately. Those days had been the best in her life. Until their eighth months anniversary, when things began going downhill.

Tessa had been head over heels in love with Will, but she didn't know if he felt the same way about her. Will had always been a player and didn't do 'lasting relationships'. She had told him of her love on multiple occasions, and he'd kissed her every time. But he had never said it back. No once.

At first, she had put down on him being unsure and scared; he'd never been particularly fond of strong emotions. Then, doubt had crept into her mind. Was Will not saying it back because he didn't feel the same? He was a caring boy and probably didn't want to hurt his best friend. Besides, maybe she wasn't good enough for him. After all, he was William Herondale, the Hot One, the Smart One, the doppelganger of a Greek God, and she was plain, simple, nerdy, bookish Tessa Gray; the very embodiment Nothing Exceptional or Special. He had women hanging on to every word that he said; it wouldn't be fair to expect long-term commitment from him. Maybe presenting her heart to Will, without any back up plan whatsoever, had been a mistake. Maybe falling in love had been a mistake.

It had been like tearing a part of her own body, but she had done it. She had plucked up the courage to go up to him and break it off. She had said that she felt they were dragging it and that they were better off as friends. The fact that he had taken the news silently, without any protest whatsoever, only reinforced her fears.

A month after their Break Up, Jem had asked her out and, desperate for any method of getting over Will, she had agreed. A week after that, Will and Jessamine had started their trend of on and off dating. In any other time, Cecily would have called and the girls would have laughed at Jessie's pathetic desperation, with Will often joining in, but they too had drifted apart after the Break Up.

Tessa dropped her phone on the bed. Ever since the Break Up, she'd been suppressing the memories but, at the end of the day, hadn't been able to avoid her demons after all. Every time she remembered anything from That Time, it left her gasping for breath and grapping at the straws of her self-control and composure. She wasn't anywhere close to getting over William Herondale, probably would never be. With a shaky breath, she covered her eyes with her hand.

They came away wet.

* * *

 ** _Do you guys want a sequel to this? Like, a fresh story for this? If more than 5 people are in favour, then I'll do it._ **

**Don't keep me waiting!**

 **Do review, it means a lot. Even a fistful of words with your opinion will suffice.**

 **Merci beaucoup, bonne journee and Be Bubbly!**


	5. MurtaghNasuada - Almost Lover

**And now, finally, for some Inheritance Cycle. Let's have it for Murtagh and Nasuada based on Almost Lover (Jasmine Thompson cover)**

Nasuada stood and watched as Murtagh sat on Torn, ready to leave. She didn't understand why he had to go, but she respected his decision and kept her opinion to herself. Who would have thought that the man who had touched the red hot iron poker to her skin would become somebody she wanted on her side to help her govern Alagesia? She had asked him why he was helping her. "You know why," he had said. Those three words had given her hopes for a future together. Yes, it would be very difficult, but she was willing to fight.

And now, he was flying away. Away from his past, this civilization. Away from her, away from them. He was flying away, taking a part of her heart with him.

And, when Eragon asked her where Murtagh was, it was all she could do to not sob her mind, heart and sould out. All she could do not to sink to her knees in front of everyone open for them all to see. All she could do not to pray to all Gods, known and unknown, to burn her away then and there.

"Where is he going?"

"Away."

 _Goodbye, my almost lover,_

 _Goodbye, my hopeless dream._

 _I'm trying not to think about you,_

 _Can you just let me be?_

 _So long, my luckless romance,_

 _My back is turned on you._

 _I should have known you'd bring me heartache;_

 _Almost lovers always do._


	6. Wessa - Pillow Talk

**It's as though I physically can't stay away from this duo for long. So it's back to Wessa again folks, to the tune of Pillow Talk this time. I usually have my stories planned, but I'm just going to go with it this time. This one will also be different because, as I've said, I don't do heavy duty mature shit. So this is more like what happens after 'fucking you and fight on' in their paradise and war zone. Well, onward mes amies.**

* * *

Will loved this time of the day: the dawn after, when he always woke up before Tessa and saw her sleep with that slight half smile adorning her lips. The first light would slowly fall on her broad white forehead and eyelashes, a strange projection of light and shadow on her face. He would gently rub small circles on parts of her body; her waist, her shoulders, her neck, her stomach, her chest. He would slowly ease the stiffness out of her body. In turn, she would push herself closer to him and inhale his aroma before slowly opening her eyes and flashing him a smile that was breathtakingly beautiful in its innocence and bashfulness, before shutting them again and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. That was all the pair needed to succumb to their carnal urges and repeat the events of the previous night.

For some strange reason, the bout in the morning was always soft, gentle and delicate. It felt as though his passion and desperate need to be in and around her ebbed with darkness. At night, they were bare emotionally and lay vulnerable and insecure in front of each other; there was no hiding or running away from anything. Fairly often, he would find himself trembling while holding her as close to him as humanly possible. Many a times they had started crying in the midst of the tornado of emotions that always seemed to enshroud the pair. There would be shuddering breaths, clashing teeth, bleeding lips and the cold metal of a clockwork angel and two Herondale rings pressed against hot and moist skin. The nights consisted of whispered confession and honest answers. It was the washing away of grief, anxiety, rage, jealousy and every other grey emotion in the steady stream of the pure love their sullied hearts held for each other. It was the thorny path to their safe haven, their nirvana.

The mornings, however, were quite the opposite. The sinking in of the realizations of rediscovered love and passion would have reinstated the sense of security they felt around each other. While the nights were for denuding their hearts of all the baggage, the light of dawn was for true, pure, unsullied love making, it was to give and receive solace in equal measure. All his insecurity, all despair and fear of Tessa leaving him for all those harsh things he had said to her would burn to ashes that would be blown away by the pleasantly cold morning breeze pouring into the room through the partially open window. The zephyr would carry the ashes away with it while simultaneously running its hands over the skin of the lovers, skin damp with sweat. Its fingers would play with hair of the entwined duo while their own were running over the other's body with coaxing motions. Will loved the way it would make her gooseflesh stand as prominently as they did whenever he raked his own fingernail down her body as he kissed her slowly, sensuously.

And today, as he had grown accustomed to, he would rub circles on the body of his wife. And she would turn to face him and rub her face into his bare chest life smiling at him and kissing him, just the way she always had.

* * *

Tessa was sure that she had woken up to the feeling of Will's rough and calloused, yet warm and soothing, fingers on her stomach. In a motion that was just as familiar to her as breathing, she turned to snuggle into his chest. She had expected to be greeted by the warmth that her husband seemed to wear like a blanket. Instead, she was greeted by the chilling morning zephyr, the same that was once a dear companion in their morning nonverbal declarations of love and affection. When she reached across to the other side of the bed, the sheets were devoid of warmth, hope and life. They were empty and unused, just the way they'd been for the last five decades.

What she didn't know was that the spectre of her blue-eyed boy was right there, regarding her with a look of unconcealed love and deep and insurmountable sorrow. A boy who was dying to say, "Look Tess, I'm right her. I haven't gone anywhere. I'm right beside you, cariad fy; there's nowhere else I could ever be," but he knew that she would only hear the silence. So he did the most that he could; he cradled her head while her pillow soaked her anguished tears, hoping she knew that he was there, that he loved her, that the pearl bracelet in her little jewelry box was not only a gift but also a promise. A promise that, even when he died, his heart would be hers and hers alone. All those years ago, he had told her that he would love her more with every passing hour. He still meant it and, had he not died of age, the inferno of love he held for her would have killed him wasn't humanly possible for a man to love a woman with the passion he loved Tessa with, and so he had to die to make more space for yet more love.

And, they lay there; the heartbroken widow crying into her pillow, registering the caresses of her dead husband and dismissing them as the hallucinations of her despairing mind.

* * *

 **Yes, I had to do that. This will go on both, Musical Shots and as an individual one shot.**

 **This is the first time I'm doing something like this guys. Please help me. Please review.**


	7. Clace - Strange Love

**This one is a Clace based on Strange Love, by Halsey. As always, helps to listen to the song.**

* * *

"It was him again, wasn't it?"

Simon, Clary's best friend and manager laid his hand on her shoulder as she deleted yet another mail from the reporter who seemed to be incapable of leaving her alone; Sebastian Verlac. Ever since that video of her and Jace's messy break up leaked, many news channels had been grilling her. Simon had been able to stem the inflow of nosy fans and smaller paps, but Verlac was a different matter altogether. His cousin, Jonathan, was one of the filthy rich investors who had helped pay for Clary's deal with the record label and blocking Sebastian would be taken as a direct insult to him. Sebastian, or Sebastard as they had taken to call him, asked the most intrusive of questions and, somehow, always managed to demean Clary without uttering one impolite word, her status as a consecutive Grammy winner be damned. To top it all, he had interviewed Jace Herondale, who had, publicly, called her a 'gold-digging, manipulative slut after his name to boost her own fame.' The fact that their duet, Confluence, won her her second Grammy did not work in her favour at all.

Together, Clary and Simon had decided on silence as their tactic to respond to the prying, but that seemed to be encouraging the vicious rumours and vile assumptions. Turning, she looked up so she could face Simon, "Si, I think it's time now. I've had quite enough. I'm not 'silently admitting to my devious intentions and whore-like methods to get where I am'," The young man began cleaning his glasses the way he did when he got nervous; again the soft material of the sleeve of Clary's dress, "You sure about this, Fray?"

"Surer that sure."

They had also decided that, if things got out of hand, Clary was to record the song she had prepared for Jace, a song that was answer enough.

Within a blink, Simon had alerted the musicians and Alec, the man at the recording centre, that it was time for a new single to be recorded and released. Soon, she found herself doing her warm-up drills before a pair of headphones was thrust into her hand and the clacks sounded. The moment she heard her cue, Clary began singing:

 _Everybody wants to know_

 _If we fucked on the bathroom sink._

* * *

 _Hailing Strange Love_

 _Post the viral video clip of the very loud, very charged breakup of American Idol winner Clary Fray and Soft Rock icon Jace Herondale, everyone was thinking that the girl who portrayed herself as the innocent candy-girl wasn't quite so innocent after all; her ex had some rather scathing things to say about her. With her new single, Strange Love, Fray has proven us right, though definitely not way we had expected her to. Let's face it, we're sure nobody had ever imagined the sweetheart next door to 'chain smoke until 3.'_

 _In an interview we had with her, Clary admitted that the relationship had always been a little bit rocky and that it was largely based on lust, leading to Herondale considering her to be a slut. In her own words, "I mean, come one, it's not like we needed too many words to be spoken, if you get my drift." She then proceeded to fangirl about the Golden God's rockin' bod' with us._

 _It seems as though Jace Herondale hasn't grown out of his playboy methods yet, quite contrary to what a lot of us believed after 'Clace' lasted for over 3 months. We think the saying ' a leopard cannot change his spots' is true after all._

* * *

When Simon finished reading the report out, he dropped the magazine and pulled Clary into a bear hug. In her hair, he mumbled, "WE did it Fray, that's the end of it!"

* * *

 **There guys, that's my first Clace. Review?**


	8. Magnus, Hallelujah

**I'm trying something different. Please just go with it. The song is Hallelujah, any of the versions. I don't want to divulge anything else just yet.**

Magnus was trying to play the piano. Trying and failing miserably. Once he had learnt the basics of music theory and composition, he had tried to write his own piece. While he did have sheet music of his own writing in front of him, none of it made sense when transited to the eighty eight keys in front of him. He didn't know why he was putting in all this effort for his lover. They could hardly be called lovers any more He couldn't remember the last time they'd had a physical connection that didn't feel like habit. He couldn't remember why he had liked the ice of her touch anyway. He knew she was unfaithful and he was every bit loyal. There were times when he would feel like finding himself a lover, just to give her a taste of her medicine, but he never could do it.

He decided to play something simpler for Camille. The more effort he put in, the more her indifference would sting. He could choose not to do anything at all for her but he was trying to salvage whatever could be salvaged of their relationship, if it could be called that. A part of him still felt that they could work, that he could make her stop needing distractions as struck her fancy.

That evening, the anniversary of Camille becoming a vampire, Magnus played for her. She said that it would make good muzak for a fine restaurant. He had been proud of his playing, of all the hard work he had put into the piece. She had, with the unfailing accuracy that came so naturally to her, hit him exactly where it hurt. He said nothing, choosing to compliment her dress instead.

All of this played in his mind while she was standing there in front of him, back from yet another dalliance with a Mundane. With his head still replaying the same memory, the same hurt, he kissed William Herondale in Camille's living room in London.

 **Whew, that wasn't so bad, was it?**


	9. Wessa - Stay

**Okay, this is long overdue. I should have written something. I haven't. I'm sorry. I can't act like this one will make up for my general absence but a girl can hope.**

 **I've had a rickety year. This is loosely based on a guy I met and, for some absurd reason, I thought I could match one aspect of Will's character with a part of the 'relationship' this guy and I had. And Rihanna's Stay fit the mood so I played that while writing and ended up with this.**

 **Shoutout to ammstar11 for the support and Gia1802 for making me see sense. Honestly girl, your disapproval of 'the drunk' began the moving on process for me. I love you.**

 **I hope you like it.**

* * *

I don't know why I put myself through this. This hurt, this pain, this sting, this bite and the numbness that I know will ultimately come. It always does. No, I know why I do it but that doesn't mean I like it. It doesn't mean that I like that I like it, whatever this is. If it is anything at all. Is it? Are we anything? It doesn't seem to be worth anything to you. I don't seem to be worth anything to you. Yet here I am, staring at the sky after yet another argument with my brother about you. Yet another bout of defending you from the people closest to me. For what? I don't know. No, I do. I admitted that, didn't I. You bring out the needy masochist in me. You make me a needy masochist. I wish I could say that I hate you and mean it. I want to mean it. Couldn't you make it a little bit easier to mean it?

It hadn't always been like this, had it? There had been a time when this had been healthy, a simple unassuming friendship. When we had been two people who liked similar things and got along well. Before my days began and ended with the memory of your eyes boring into mine. Before your name felt like a part of my breath. Before I learnt how it felt to have you fall asleep on my shoulder, your body leaning into mine and molding around it. Before I mapped your body with my hands, holding every memory to relive our nights together later, when you warmed someone else's bed and my moist pillow became my sole confidante.

It had been so simple then, so easy. Why had you come to me that night, after she broke you? I can't forget the look in your eyes when you asked me to hold you. I would have been content to just hold you. Why did you look at me like that? Why did you kiss me? Why did I let you kiss me? Why did I let you take me back to your room. I'm a fool, a fool for you. I thought I was helping you when I was cracking myself. I was chipping off parts of myself to keep you together. But you held me like you needed me and said my name like gave you hope. I caved. I caved and I broke and I'm stilled crumbling bit by bit and you just don't seem to see it.

I remember how you began peeling our clothes off between kisses. I remember that I had tried to stop you. Till I'm laid in my coffin I'll remember how you said my name and that your breath smelled of vodka and pain, that every 'please' you uttered broke off more of my heart and stuck it to your fingers, your lips, your eyelashes, your neck. Never your heart though, never your heart. I surrendered to you that night. I gave and you took. And when I woke up in the morning, you were gone.

For those few months, I picked up the all the pieces of yourself you kept scattering, discarding parts of myself to make more room for you. I gave you my days, my nights, my body, mind heart and soul. You took it all. But how long can someone give unhesitatingly? How long can someone take whiplashes with a smile, recede to the corners to lick her wounds and return at first light for more? I wouldn't have been able to sustain it forever but I could have held on longer. If you hadn't delivered the death blow.

It was that night exactly a month ago. Do you remember it? I hope you remember it. You had been extremely inebriated, so this hope might be pushing my frugal stock of luck but I do it nonetheless because I can't stand the thought of remembering every little detail of something that is a drunken blur to you. I can't bear to be the only one this memory is haunting. But this hope is folly. If it meant anything at all to you, you would have stopped me. If you cared, you would have called.

Once again, we had been in your bed, the sheets tangled somewhere near our feet. You had been lying me, your ragged breaths sharp in my ear, our hearts racing. Then, just as you were pulling out, you said, "God, I love you." For a moment, I believed it and my heart stopped. But your words were slighted slurred and you still smelt of alcohol. And I had to bite my lip as hard as I could to ensure you didn't sense any difference. Within a few moments, you were fast asleep and then I let go and started crying. Because I did love you, with a self sacrificing, masochistic passion. I didn't care what I went through if it made you happier but you always seemed to know how to break me. And I swear, no insult could have hurt more than you throwing the words I hoped to hear you say, sober, someday at my face when you were drunk, and then falling asleep.

I couldn't keep taking it. I had to write that letter. It killed me, it really did. But what we were doing wasn't helping either of us. We were both in an unhealthy place. And couldn't keep doing it, not when I felt like a cheap distraction from your pain. We both needed to heal. We both needed to wash stains away, you of the alcohol and break up and me of your lingering scent, of the warmth of skin on mine, of the gentle brush of your breath. I needed to be purged.

It's been a month. I still wrap my arms around myself and imagine it's you. When I close my eyes and press my fingers against my lips, I can fool myself into believing that I'm kissing you when you're sober and you want me for me and not to forget someone else. I truly am pathetic.

* * *

My phone rings. The number is not saved but achingly familiar. I remember how my fingers shook while deleting it.

I hold my breath.

"Hello?"

"Tess?" You seem to be holding your breath too.

"Will?"

We breathe.

* * *

 **Well... review?**


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